Something in Return
by apricitiff
Summary: Belle needs Rumpelstiltskin's help when she finds herself stuck in the library, but he won't make it easy. "Belle, you may be under the delusion that I am a good man, but I don't help anyone without expecting something in return. You of all people should know that." Rumbelle smut.


Something in Return

Belle was stuck. It had taken her a while to accept the fact. After all, she sacrificed herself to save her village. She sacrificed herself in the name of heroism and bravery, not… this. Not to be trapped, helpless, a damsel in distress.

It was stupid, really, how she ended up in this predicament. She had gone about her day doing her usual chores—chopping the carrots and celery for dinner, fetching the straw Rumpelstiltskin spun into more gold than one could ever spend in a lifetime.

"Why do you spin so much?" she asked him once, when she first arrived at his castle.

"Because it helps me forget."

She had come to the library after setting the straw down for that very reason. To forget. To escape the reality of being trapped. When she first stumbled upon Rumpel's library, she just stared. It struck her, how different the room felt in contrast to the rest of the castle. The other rooms were surrounded by stone, cold and opaque with those heavy curtains blocking the sunlight; here the library felt warmer. The walls were lined with dark oak shelves reaching up to the ceiling, the rich hues of old hardcover book spines casting a velvety glow, effectively ameliorating the usual chilly aesthetic of the castle. It seemed lavish and superfluous, for one man to have so much history and wonder tucked away in the midst of the surrounding poverty. But it fit him. In a world of magic and Ogre Wars and evil queens, she loved the room for its anachronistic comfort.

She was therefore ecstatic when Rumpel offered her a deal: permission to access all of the library's volumes in exchange for dusting off the thick layer of dust coating everything and keeping the place clean. It was a deal she quickly agreed to.

To say it was a big library would have been an understatement. After weeks of dusting she had just finished the far east wall and was now working on the western one. She had climbed up the rungs of the ladder to the section she was dusting this week when she spotted it. _Her Handsome Hero,_ the ultimate book about compassion and forgiveness,the book that made her fall in love with books.

The problem was it was nested a few too many books to her right. She would have to climb all the way down, repositions the ladder, then climb all the way back up, dusting as she went. No, the easier way to retrieve the book was to simply stretch for it. It was only about two hands' width out of reach. If she balanced herself on the rungs with only her left foot and hand, she should be able to swing far enough to grab it. She felt bold.

Instead of gently stretching however, the momentum of her movements harshly shifted the ladder. Suddenly, she lost her balance. In her panic to stay on the ladder, she dislodged three books and ended up scurrying back to grab the ladder with all her limbs.

She heard a tear. In her hurry, the hem of her dress and right sleeve had gotten caught under the wheels of the rungs. She tried nudging the sleeve out from under the wheels, but she only succeeded in creating a bigger tear. Belle had to find another way to break free.

Ironic, wasn't it, that in a room full of possibility and escape, here she hung, trapped.

It must have been an hour—or maybe five—that she stood there, trying anything that crossed her mind to successfully disentangle herself from the ladder without ripping her clothing to shreds. Her arm weighed fifty pounds, her thighs ached. She envisioned simply letting go and allowing the weight free her from the ladder and dress as she plummeted to the ground. At least she'd be free. Death by library. How fitting. It seemed less and less a bad idea the longer she hung.

She heard a footstep behind her.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here, _dearie_?" He chuckled, his voice that mix of derision and mirth.

"Rumpel, thank goodness! I'm stuck up here."

"Yes, I see that," he replied simply. No movement. He enjoyed watching her squirm, which she did anyway on a regular basis but never in as precarious a position as now.

Belle sighed. "I don't suppose you could help me out? Free me from the ladder?"

"And what would I get out of it?"

"What?"

"What would I get out of it?" he repeated.

"What do you mean?"

"Belle," Rumpelstiltskin drawled out as he teleported himself to her left, eye-level now, using the shelf ledges to balance, "you may be under the delusion that I am a good man, but I don't help anyone without expecting something in return. You of all people should know that."

"What do you want?"

No response.

"My eternal gratitude, then," Belle retorted.

"Not good enough, dearie," he said, enunciating every syllable. That infuriating giggle.

Her brows knitted, tired of his games. She was not in the mood after being stuck up here for so long. "What, then, Rumpel? Fetch you more straw tomorrow? Bake a dessert for dinner? Sleep in the dungeon? What else could you possibly want me to-"

Belle's breath caught as he moved closer suddenly, effectively ending her list of flippant suggestions. For a time, neither spoke. Her belly coiled as his dark eyes gazed into hers. It was that tension again, the one she had felt on and off since she began working at his beck and call, the one that made her breathing quicken.

She tried to pass it off as a delusion from being up here so long and kept her gaze in his eyes, afraid to break the rules of their unspoken game. He inched closer once again until she could feel his body touching her dress ever so slightly. His hand reached forward.

"The top of your dress—it's torn."

She swallowed. "What do you want?" she repeated, her voice hoarser now.

She suddenly found both feet planted firmly on the library ground. Rumpelstiltskin stepped into her. She gasped in surprise as her back hit the shelves, and his lips covered hers.

They were surprisingly soft yet unyielding as he explored the caverns of her mouth. Devoured, she thought was more accurate, and she found herself pushing back against his mouth, wanting to devour his taste too. She felt his left hand restraining her wrist against the books, his other hand drawing maddening circles on her hip bone while keeping her firm against the shelves.

He pushed his right leg between hers, and she gasped again at the sensation it created. He took advantage of this to capture her bottom lip with his teeth, sucking them into his mouth before releasing them and slipping his tongue back into her. Her hips instinctively flicked upwards against his leg, trying to recreate that delicious friction she had felt just moments before. Rumpelstiltskin eagerly urged her on, using his hand to guide the rhythm of her hips.

When Belle was growing up, she never understood why women loved the cheap romance paperbacks so much. She didn't understand how anyone could look up to a damsel so willing to submit to the desires of some man, so willing to be possessed. But as her hips grinded against him and she felt his manhood hard against her thigh, she started to. She forgot about her sacrifice, about being his maid, and gave in to the feeling of his lips and hands and friction.

He let go of her hand and curled his around the nape of her neck. She suddenly felt colder. Looking down, she found that all that separated her and Rumpel now was her slip. Somehow he had vanished the rest of her clothing elsewhere. The belly coil intensified.

"Tell me to stop, Belle," he growled into her ear.

She whimpered at the sensation of his breath in her ear and arched her back into him.

"Tell me," he gritted out.

She moaned. Goodness, how she loved the vibrations of his words against her ear. It was addicting.

She brushed her hand against his length in response. He hissed. Feeling emboldened, she started rubbing it in time with her hips.

His fingers quickly pushed up the bottom of her slip and paused on the waist band of her knickers. When she didn't protest, he pushed the thin piece of fabric aside. His long digits stroked her clit. Her eyes fluttered shut and she cried out.

"So wet, Belle," he murmured, strategically into her ear this time. He felt her desire, could smell it, and he delighted in his ability to induce this reaction in her. His fingers continued their ascent downward until they found her opening, teasing slightly before moving back to circle her clit again. She made a noise of protest. His middle finger then curled into her, stroking her inside, eliciting a louder cry of pleasure.

She strained against him, her hips moving on her own in time with his ministrations. He added another finger, stroking her harder as she ground her clit into his palm.

"Good girl," he approved, though his voice was low and guttural. She could feel her juices leaking from her pussy. Her heart pounded. He began kissing her neck, sucking the sensitive skin right under the jawline. He could feel her movements becoming more frantic, incessant, desperate, searching. Her legs trembled as her fingernails dug into his shoulders. He stroked her faster, pushing her harder against the shelves.

He leaned in and bit her earlobe. "Come for me, Belle." And she fell apart, her walls clenching his fingers as she screamed her release. She pulsed around him in rapture. Her mind went blank, and she let pleasure overwhelm her.

When her breathing steadied a little more, he pulled his fingers out of her. His index finger circled her lips until she sucked it in, encircling it with her tongue and tasting herself. Her face was flush, and his hardness throbbed. Catching her watching him, Rumpelstiltskin put his middle finger in his mouth, licking the rest of her juices off himself.

His eyes were still dark. "You've thought about this, haven't you, dearie?"

Her breathing was still erratic even now, and it was all she could do to nod. Despite her orgasm, her desire for him burned in her body. She wanted him even more. She reached out for his member, wanting him to feel what she just felt, but his hand encircled her wrist and stopped her.

She gazed at him, half-pleading, half-confused. "Rumpel…?"

"I believe this is what you wanted." He pushed an untorn dress into one hand and a book into the other. _Her Handsome Hero._

He turned dismissively to walk away, and she immediately missed his warmth.

"If you happen to need assistance returning the book, dearie, please, let me know. I believe there are other deals that can be made."


End file.
